


Settling Accounts

by Ashunera



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Families of Choice, Gen, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:54:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23676448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashunera/pseuds/Ashunera
Summary: Without her husband at her side, Pavetta felt disconnected, unmoored. And to her shame, when Geralt of Rivia found his way back to their court, six years to the day since her wedding and seven months since she had been widowed, she hid behind her mother rather than face him.Pavetta does not die at sea. Now, she must confront the man that her late husband promised to give their daughter to.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Pavetta
Comments: 12
Kudos: 145





	Settling Accounts

**Author's Note:**

> There are canon details from the books discussed here, but nothing that would overtly spoil anything, I hope!

Pavetta did not have the prophetic powers famed among the children of the Elder Blood, or at least, nothing in the druid Mousesack’s exploration of her magical abilities had led him to believe that she was a seer. And yet, the closer the day came that she and her dearest Duny and little Cirilla should sail to Skellige, the more certain she became that she should not, could not join him. The very thought made her shiver.

Duny had spent nearly half of his life cursed to live as a beast and had fought every inch of the way to master himself. He was Pavetta’s anchor, balancing out her incredible temper on days where it threatened to overwhelm her quiet personality.

The night before the trip was the closest that she had ever seen Duny to true anger. When he had seen that Pavetta was trembling (with fear or rage, she did not know) he had gone quiet, and withdrawn from their chambers without a word. She did not understand the distance that had descended between them then, and she didn’t understand it after, when the ship carrying him was confirmed lost during a sudden and terrible storm.

She and Cirilla hadn’t even come to give their farewells.

She would regret that for a very long time.

She had thought that the bond forged between them through Destiny, through the Law of Surprise, would keep them together forever. It had allowed them to marry, despite her mother, and with only a slight push from a banquet crashing Witcher. It was why she had never feared for Cirilla, bound by Destiny to that selfsame Witcher before Pavetta had even known she was pregnant with the girl, no matter how she would miss her daughter, and no matter what terrible information her mother dredged up about Witchers. (Which was not to say that she wasn’t concerned. She simply had faith that the situation would resolve itself, whether Geralt of Rivia wanted it to or not.)

Losing Duny shook that faith. Without her husband at her side, she felt disconnected, unmoored. And to her shame, when Geralt of Rivia found his way back to their court, six years to the day since her wedding and seven months since she had been widowed, she hid behind her mother rather than face him.

When he was presented to Queen Calanthe and Princess Pavetta, Geralt looked just the same as he had six years ago, a man with milk-white hair and piercing yellow eyes. He wore leather armor studded with silver rather than a doublet, and perhaps he looked a little more tired, Pavetta supposed, but he certainly didn’t look like a man allegedly approaching ninety.

Calanthe and Pavetta received him in the palace garden, sitting together on a swinging bench. Pavetta was twenty-one, a princess and a mother. She should not hide behind her demure manner the way that she had at fifteen and yet she could not bring herself to speak to this man, who had come to take her only child away from her.

Geralt of Rivia dropped to one knee in deference before he met Pavetta’s eyes. They stared at each other, unspeaking. Pavetta thought with no small amount of horror that she understood her mother better now.

“Witcher,” Queen Calanthe said dryly, drawing his attention away. “The last I’d heard, you swore never to return here.”

“I did,” he acknowledged.

“And yet, here we are. The Witcher, coming back to demand his payment at long last. Your guild’s heartless reputation is well deserved.”

“You think I came here to Cintra, driven by an obsession to steal your grandchild away from you? No, I want... I want to see this child, perhaps. To look Destiny in its eyes.... I don’t know myself why I came. But don’t be afraid. I won’t take-”

“Afraid!?” Calanthe hissed, springing to her feet, “Me? Afraid of you? I should be afraid of you, accursed sorcerer? How dare you revile me with your compassion, accuse me of cowardice?”

Geralt had enough of a sense of self-preservation to bow his head at Calanthe’s outburst.

“Mother,” Pavetta said, suddenly finding her voice. “May I speak to the Witcher, alone?”

Calanthe turned to look at her, shocked. She saw a similar expression on the Witcher’s face as he peeked up at her. Pavetta smoothed her hands over her dress and stood. Her Duny, she remembered, had also been drawn to her by the Law of Surprise, by a need to see that which he had been promised.

Pavetta bowed to her mother and gestured for the Witcher to follow her.

He followed Pavetta into the halls of Cintra’s castle, stopping when she paused to gaze out the window overlooking the courtyard. There were children playing there, their shrieks of joy carrying up to them. She knew Ciri was among them, although she could not tell her from the others at this distance. If the Witcher suspected this, he made no indication. The two of them were silent a long, long time.

“Duny is dead,” she said at last, “My child is now without a father.” Geralt flinched.

“My condolences, Pavetta,” he managed to say. She only nodded.

“You truly don’t mean to take my child away,” Pavetta said, a question hidden beneath her statement. “Why are you here?”

“I don’t know what to do with a child,” Geralt said, his voice rough, “All I know is how to train young boys to be Witchers at Kaer Morhen. And that is not the same. Not at all.”

“No, you are right. No parent would subject their children to something as awful as the Trial of the Grasses, would they?”

Geralt jerked with shock, turning to stare at her. Pavetta smiled bitterly.

“Mother studied whatever she could find about Witchers, whenever she could find it. She learned, for instance, that many children die in horrific ways, long before they face the danger inherent to your profession. Driven mad, stuffed with narcotics, their eyes ruptured instead of turning to cat’s eyes like yours. How many survive the Trial of the Grasses, Geralt?”

“My code... the oath I swore when I became a Witcher forbids me from even saying that name, princess,” Geralt said. Pavetta noticed that he was trembling. It was not kindness that made her wait for him to continue.

“I can tell you this. That fate cannot befall your child, it is impossible. Even if I took them now, to train them in the trade of Witchering, that fate is not possible. There has not been a new Witcher made at Kaer Morhen in twenty-five years.”

“Why?” Pavetta asked. Geralt did not reply for a long moment. He seemed far away.

“Surely,” he murmured, “Surely you have heard of the sacking of Kaer Morhen? The secrets were lost when the mages died, their archives burned. There were attempts to find the formulae again... my fellow Witcher Coen’s proof of that... but it was too late.

“But,” he said, voice growing stronger, “Even without that, all I have to give to a child would be my training, my way of life. I cannot expose a child to that kind of danger. I will not, Pavetta. And yet this damned Law of Surprise has left me in a position where I am responsible for a child. Me, a vagabond killer for hire!” Geralt spat.

“You fear Destiny,” Pavetta said.

“I can’t sleep,” Geralt replied, a non-sequitur.

Pavetta folded her hands in front of herself and considered him. He was straightforward, blunt, and taciturn. She had no doubt that everything that he had said to her was the truth. And yet, she felt that there was something he was avoiding saying.

As she watched him, his eyes were again drawn to the children outside.

“Why did you become a Witcher, Geralt?” She asked at last.

  
“My mother gave me up, of course. Most Witchers were unwanted children.”

“Do you resent her for that?”

“Hmm.” He was still gazing out of the window. His body language grew paradoxically calmer as his voice grew tight. “It was her prerogative, as it is any woman’s, to not want to have a child. And it was her right to decide that she could not keep me. But... yes. I do resent her for leaving me to the Witchers. I hope that she didn’t know what fate she was leaving me to.”

Pavetta felt a weight slide from her shoulders. Geralt wanted to do right by her Cirilla, even if he was not able to articulate that desire clearly. She could work with that.

“Come with me, Witcher,” Pavetta said. She took Geralt out to the children in the courtyard. When Ciri saw her, she peeled away from the rest of the group, bouncing up to her mother.

“Mama!”

“Cirilla, this is Geralt of Rivia. He has come from far away to meet you. Can you say hello?”

Ciri, who unlike her mother had never been shy a day in her life, immediately turned her attention to the man. He stared at her a moment, frozen in place, before getting down on one knee.

“Hello, Princess.”

“’lo. Why are your eyes like that?”

“Cirilla!” Pavetta scolded. Geralt smiled a little.

“I’m a Witcher, which means I hunt monsters. My eyes let me see monsters better at night.”

  
Ciri’s eyes grew big.

“Monsters like dragons?” She said, quite seriously.

“Dragons aren’t so bad. Wyverns are the dangerous ones.”

“We’re playing knights and dragons,” Ciri said, giving no indication that she had heard Geralt’s explanation. She grabbed his hand and started pulling him back towards the other children. “If you’ve seen a dragon, that means you know what they sound like.”

Geralt looked deeply bemused as he allowed himself to be dragged away from Pavetta.

It took less than five minutes for Geralt to be wrangled into carrying the children on his shoulders.

When he returned to her, some twenty minutes later when the children had begun to tire at last, his hair had been pulled free from its leather tie. He looked wild and disheveled, but the expression in his eyes was at peace for the first time that she had known him.

She was not surprised when he got down on one knee before her. She had judged him correctly. A painfully honest man.

“Pavetta,” he said, “If you’ll permit me.... I want to be part of her life. I can’t stay in one place for too long; it is against my nature. But, for Ciri... I will come back. I will teach her about ghouls and wraiths and basilisks. I will teach her to find her way in the woods. I will teach her to use a sword like a Witcher when she’s old enough.”

“You will love her as your own,” Pavetta demanded, refusing to let him hide behind his profession. Geralt swallowed and nodded jerkily.

“You will guide her as she grows, comfort her when she’s upset.”

“Yes.”

“You will support her when she’s grown, advise her?”

“Yes, Pavetta.”

“You will protect her from anything?”

“With my life.”

“Good,” Pavetta at last allowed herself a watery smile. Maybe this would work out, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Geralt's Dad instincts have been activated at long last!


End file.
